


you're the best thing (that isn't mine yet)

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Morning After, dumb boys who dumb, unnecessary manpain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t go away,” Enjolras tells him, and Grantaire is sure that if he puts his ear to the door, he would be able to hear Enjolras grinding his teeth in frustration on the other side. “We need to talk about what happened last night.”</p><p>“Nothing happened!” Grantaire yells.</p><p>(Or, the one where Grantaire freaks out about sleeping with Enjolras.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're the best thing (that isn't mine yet)

Grantaire wakes up to what sounds like someone trying to break his front door down.

“Christ, are you fucking mental?” he groans in the general direction of the door, still groggy with sleep, and the pounding on the door ceases immediately.

He almost wishes it hadn’t when Enjolras’ voice comes through clearly. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras is saying. Grantaire hears the doorknob rattle. “Grantaire, let me in for fuck’s sake.”

The memories of the night before come back to him and he absolutely doesn’t squeak and fall off his couch. 

He _doesn’t_ , how dare anyone suggest otherwise.

“Grantaire is not here right now,” Grantaire says, raising his voice so as to be heard over the door, because fuck, he’s so _stupid_ in the morning when he doesn’t have enough caffeine in him. “Please try again later! Or never! Never is good!”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras growls. Grantaire knows that growl very well, he’s been on the receiving end of that growl many times, and it’s not difficult to envision Enjolras’ look of fury right now. “Grantaire, let me in right now, or I swear I will break this door down.”

“It’s very sturdy wood,” Grantaire snaps. “Go away!”

“I can’t go away,” Enjolras tells him, and Grantaire is sure that if he puts his ear to the door, he would be able to hear Enjolras grinding his teeth in frustration on the other side. “We need to talk about what happened last night.”

“Nothing happened!” Grantaire yells. 

The doorknob rattles again, shaking in its place almost furiously. 

“If you spoil my doorknob, you’re paying for a new one!” 

“Grantaire, this is stupid,” Enjolras says. “Open the damned door.”

“Never,” Grantaire tells him. “I have beer, I have cookies, I have working Internet. I can outlast you.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. It’s the absolute _worst_ thing to say, and Grantaire realises this the moment the words leave his mouth, because Enjolras never turns down from a challenge (a self-acknowledged problem) and this sounds like a challenge.

“I take it back!” he says quickly before Enjolras has a chance to respond. “I don’t want to talk to you. Please go away, preferably forever.”

“You are not running away from this problem.” The _like you run away from everything else_ rings loud even unsaid. 

Grantaire bristles at that, feeling inexplicably offended, even though he shouldn’t be, because it’s true. He runs away from all his problems. If he could major in Problem Avoidance, he would ace the course because avoiding problems until they get too tired of waiting for him to sort them out and sort themselves out instead is his forte. 

“I’m not running from anything,” Grantaire says, “because _nothing happened_.”

“You ran away from me!” Enjolras yells, loud enough that his neighbours must be able to hear. “You are hiding in your apartment from me!”

God, his _neighbours_. 

Eponine is never going to let him hear the end of this, and Montparnasse is just going to smirk at him until he decides that dropping dead would be an easier way out. 

As if on cue, his phone chimes with new text messages.

 **From: Montparnasse**  
blondie is looking v disheveled and upset did you finally fuck and leave him 

**From: Montparnasse**  
i would send flowers to congratulate but blondie is blocking the entrance of your door he looks murderous were you a bad lay

 **From: Montparnasse**  
is he an A+ lay

 **From: Montparnasse**  
d’you reckon he’d be up for a threesome w ep and me now that you’re done w him

Fuck, it’s already starting. Grantaire needs to find a new place to stay in.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras calls.

“Shut up,” Grantaire replies.

“Grantaire.” The frustration in Enjolras’ voice is evident. “Come out, let me in, whatever, I don’t care, just— Can we talk about last night?”

“No,” Grantaire grits out, “because _last night didn’t happen_.”

“Grantaire—” Enjolras starts, and Grantaire recognises his tone. It’s his Can We Please Be Reasonable voice, and nope, Grantaire is 100% not equipped to deal with this right now. 

“I’m going to call the cops if you don’t leave,” Grantaire threatens. “I’m not even lying. You know how much I want to not talk to you right now, you know I’m not lying.”

There is silence from the other side of the door. 

“Okay,” Enjolras says finally. “I’m leaving.”

Grantaire listens for footsteps; there is none. 

Grantaire snorts. “I know you’re still out there, Apollo!” 

“This isn’t over!” Enjolras yells, and this time Grantaire hears footsteps leading away from his apartment, and when he peeks through the pinhole on the door, Enjolras is nowhere to be seen.

His relief doesn’t last for long.

 **From: Enjolras**  
THIS ISN’T OVER.

Of course it isn’t.

Of fucking course.

—

Grantaire remembers nothing because last night didn’t happen. 

But if last night happened, and it most definitely _didn’t_ , Grantaire would remember the way Enjolras’ hands felt like brands on his hips and the way Enjolras’ legs dug into his back. He would remember the way Enjolras’ eyes were screwed shut in pleasure and the way Enjolras’ blush spread all the way down his chest. He would remember Enjolras moaning his name over and over and over again, and the litany of _please please please_ that fell from Enjolras’ lips.

He would remember pressing fervent kisses to Enjolras’ lips, and pinning Enjolras’ wrist down and sucking a bruise to his neck, high enough that his collar won’t be able to hide it. He would remember pressing slowly into Enjolras, holding himself so fucking still not daring breathe, and then not being _able_ to breathe when Enjolras nodded at him to move. He would remember saying stupidly sentimental things to Enjolras, gasping the words into his mouth and pressing them into his skin. 

But last night didn’t happen, and so Grantaire doesn’t remember any of that.

—

“This is a disaster,” Grantaire moans, twisting to press his face into Cosette’s stomach. “This is the worst. God, why didn’t anyone stop me when it seemed like I was five steps away from making bad life decisions? Why else do I need friends?”

Cosette snorts. “It’s a disaster because you’re making it a disaster.”

“I need sympathetic Cosette right now,” Grantaire tells her, waspish. “You owe me all the sympathy.”

Cosette heaves a resigned sigh, and then dutifully pets his hair. “Poor R.”

“I know,” Grantaire groans.

“It’s a disaster,” she tells him. 

“I _know_ ,” Grantaire says again.

“If you hadn’t run out on him, it wouldn’t be a disaster,” Cosette continues, completely unconcerned about how her lack of sympathy is making him feel like hanging himself, because she is the child of Satan. “So technically, you created a disaster out of nothing.”

“This is not helping,” Grantaire growls. 

“You created something!” Cosette chirps, falsely cheerful. “That’s amazing, R! That’s something you should be proud of!”

“You are the worst person in the history of the universe,” Grantaire says, sitting up.

“Child of Satan,” Cosette sings.

“Your father is the nicest man on this planet,” Grantaire says with a scowl. “I don’t know where he went wrong with you.”

“He was in jail,” Cosette reminds Grantaire, but she looks proud, and it says a lot about his sanity that he considers Cosette one of his best friends. “You are overthinking this,” she tells Grantaire. “Talk to Enjolras. You’re both good with words, you’ll work it out. Now do you want cuddles or ice cream?”

“Both?” Grantaire asks, hopeful.

And because Cosette isn’t all bad and devilish, and really does have a soft spot for him, she shrugs and says, “Both is good.”

—

Grantaire skips the meeting at the Musain in the evening, because he mightn’t be in possession of much self-preservation instincts, but he does have _some_ , and his instincts are telling him that being around Enjolras is a bad idea. So he stays back at home, pops open a bottle of wine (or three) and settles for getting drunk and watching shitty sitcoms. 

He’s almost dozed off when his phone vibrates in his hand.

 **From: Enjolras**  
You weren’t at the meeting.

Grantaire snorts. Astute observation, Enjolras.

 **From: Enjolras**  
You were supposed to be at the meeting so we could talk.

He rolls his eyes. As if that was going to happen. It’s almost as if Enjolras doesn’t know him.

 **From: Eponine**  
you were on blondie’s meeting agenda. he was supposed to talk about how you’re being an idiot but got upset when you didn’t show. :( he’s offering fifty bucks for anyone who can get you to talk to him. i’ll split 50/50?

 **To: Eponine**  
shut up.

He doesn’t even pretend to try to stop himself from texting Enjolras. 

**To: Enjolras**  
you are not allowed to talk about me at the meeting. the meetings are for important things only.

Enjolras’ reply comes within seconds.

 **From: Enjolras**  
I wouldn’t have had to if you’d just talk to me. You are important to me, this is important to me. 

Grantaire has to take a long moment to catch his breath and slow the beating of his heart. Enjolras is the worst, why would he say that?

 **To: Enjolras**  
there is nothing to talk about, let it go jfc.

 **From: Enjolras**  
You keep saying that. It’s not true, but you keep saying that.

 **To: Enjolras**  
most people would take that as a hint.

 **From: Enjolras**  
I am not most people. 

**From: Enjolras**  
We are going to talk about this, Grantaire.

Grantaire can almost hear the words in Enjolras’ voice, can picture his face pinched in slight irritation so clearly. It sounds like a promise, and Enjolras doesn’t break his promises. 

Grantaire screams into his pillow. 

He is not drunk enough for this.

—

Combeferre calls him at arse o’clock the next morning.

It is an unspoken rule that everyone picks up Combeferre’s phone calls, because Combeferre texts most things and only reserves calls when it’s _important_. Grantaire doesn’t even hesitate to pick up his phone. 

“Combeferre?” he says into the phone, voice still rough with sleep. “Is everything okay?”

“No, everything is not okay.” 

It’s not Combeferre, of course it’s not Combeferre. 

“Does Combeferre know you have his phone?” Grantaire asks. 

“He wouldn’t mind,” Enjolras says matter-of-factly.

“Enjolras, give Combeferre his phone back.” He suppresses his urge to sigh, even though nobody can blame him if he does, because it’s too early in the morning for him to be dealing with words and feelings and Enjolras. 

“I called you twelve times with my own phone,” Enjolras tells Grantaire. “You wouldn’t pick up, I had to do something.”

“No,” Grantaire says, and this time he sighs. “You didn’t have to do anything. Not doing anything is a preferred reaction, please don’t do anything.”

“I just wanted to talk,” Enjolras says, subdued. “I want to know how to fix this.”

“There isn’t anything to fix, because nothing happened,” Grantaire says, and the words rolls off his tongue easily now, with how frequently he’s been saying them. He wonders if he would start to believe it if he says it often enough. “Can you please just leave it alone?”

He hears a knock on his door. 

“Let me in, R,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire, because he’s an idiot in the morning (and not because the gravity in Enjolras’ voice made him), does.

“You keep on saying that it didn’t happen,” Enjolras says, voice hard and determined as he walks into Grantaire’s apartment. He frowns when he catches sight of the empty wine bottles on Grantaire’s floor, but doesn’t say anything about them. “You keep saying that and it’s not true, it did happen, and I would like for it to keep happening.” Enjolras must catch the look of uncertainty on Grantaire’s face, because he takes Grantaire’s hand in his and adds, “And I’m not just talking about sex, I would like for you to go out with me, on a date, as my boyfriend.”

Grantaire closes his eyes and prays for strength. “We would be awful together.”

“You can’t say that because you don’t know,” Enjolras tells him, earnest. “You can say that to me if we crash and burn, which isn’t going to happen, but not before.”

“This cannot happen,” Grantaire tells Enjolras, forcing the words out of his throat, even though it hurts him to say it. Better for it to hurt now than later, when he’s in too deep, when he’s actually _been_ with Enjolras. This is better. “This, _us_ , cannot happen.”

Enjolras’ gaze is piercing. “Why?” 

“Because good things don’t happen to me!” Grantaire snaps. “Or rather, they can’t happen to me, because I will ruin all the good things in my life, I disappoint people and fail to live up to expectations, and I don’t want that to happen with us. Christ, it was a lot easier when I pined for you from afar and you didn’t return my feelings—”

“I do return your feelings,” Enjolras interjects.

Grantaire groans. “Can you not?”

Enjolras sighs. “Look, you say that good things can’t happen to you, and okay, maybe that’s true.” Enjolras is a lying liar who lies, Grantaire can tell how much Enjolras isn’t buying anything he says, which, rude. “But maybe you’re looking at this the wrong way. Maybe I’m not supposed to be your good thing,” he says gently, “maybe you’re _mine_.”

“Enjolras—” Grantaire swallows and renews his prayer for strength.

“I wanted to wake up next to you in my bed yesterday,” Enjolras admits. “I wanted to see you with bedhead and kiss you awake, and make you breakfast even if there’s a significant risk of me burning my apartment down. I wanted to go on a walk with you and hold your hand, and listen to you talk about how your commission piece is killing you even though half the time I have no idea what you’re talking about. I still want to do all those things, R, your feelings aren’t one-sided, they never were.”

Grantaire cannot help but to fist his fingers in Enjolras’ shirt and pull him in, their lips crashing against each other’s, and oh, _oh_ , how did he ever think that he could quit this? He’s an addict, he should be used to wanting things in excess, how did he think he could quit Enjolras just like that? Having Enjolras around is heady. He should have known that he wouldn’t be able to stop. Why would he want to stop?

He realises that he’s babbling the words out against Enjolras’ lips when Enjolras pulls away and says, face serious, “I don’t want you to stop, ever.”

Grantaire has to crack a grin at that. “We would be awful together,” he says again, voice rueful.

“We would,” Enjolras agrees, and he’s smiling, smiling like he’s fucking ecstatic, like _Grantaire_ made him happy, and Grantaire has to steal a kiss, just because he can. “But we’re going to be the best kind of awful.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com) on tumblr, come say hi! :D


End file.
